*X.*
Trevelyan’s hurt shoulder healed rapidly, and two weeks later, Mackenziedischarged him, and he reported for duty again.
"The row’s all over, I hear," he said later, to the little subaltern.
The little subaltern nodded ruefully.
"Yes, and holy smoke, didn’t the chicken-hearted things run when theycaught sight of us. We gave it to ’em hot, though! Guess they’ll letoff their funny business for a time, and—" the little subaltern grewsuddenly sober, "Of course, you’ve heard about Pearson and Bennett andthe men?"
Trevelyan nodded.
"Yes," he said, and the little subaltern never knew how gladly Trevelyanwould lay down his life if he could have Pearson’s or Bennett’schance—or the chance of the men.
Trevelyan went down the long piazza to his own quarters.
He had been in the hospital having his shoulder dressed and caring forStewart, who was still ill; when they had brought Pearson and Bennettand the men back to the Station.
And through all the years of his life he would never have Pearson’s orBennett’s chance, or the chance of Pearson’s or Bennett’s burial. Hewould die as other men died, who had failed in life; he would never bebrought back from the front; he would never fall defending the Serviceand England.
* * * * *
A month later he filed his resignation papers, preparatory to havingthem endorsed and sent to the War Office.
The Colonel was in a fighting humor when the matter was brought up tohim next day! The son of Trevelyan of Inkerman fame! And he sent forTrevelyan and talked to him of his duty to the Service, and the Queen,and the colonial policy of England, and a good deal more; but Trevelyanwas firm. The Colonel grew apoplectic; still, Trevelyan was unmoved.Then, the Colonel, who had never lost a battle in his life, retreatedungraciously, trying to think of some reason why the order should not beendorsed and—failed. He had inquired into the shoulder affair, but thatwas explained by the little subaltern, who testified that he had seenand spoken to Trevelyan the moment before the shot. Trevelyan had beenall eagerness to go. He had not paid any attention to the report,thinking some of the men were probably practicing at target. TheColonel had gone over that matter carefully. Then, in spite of theinjury, Trevelyan had offered to undertake the survey—the Colonel couldnot get around that—even though he was not fit. Trevelyan might havebeen unpopular in the regiment, but he had always done his duty as anofficer of the Service. And so the Colonel wrathfully saw theapplication go off on the next mail to England.
And then Trevelyan waited; waited as a man waits for the warrant that isto close his lease on life; and, as though to make the most of the timeremaining, when he was not on duty, or with Stewart in the hospital, hewas with the younger officers of the mess. They grew, then, to know anew phase in his character. He no longer closed the door of hisquarters on them; it was Trevelyan’s room to which they flocked; it wasTrevelyan who joked them and teased them and smoked with them, and whoplayed tennis with the garrison girls, and drank tea with the officers’wives; it was Trevelyan, with his great strength and courage, who sharedtheir pastimes and helped to kill the long, inactive days that hadsettled back over the Station like a pall. Even the little subalternceased to dress up regardless in white linen and go and drink tea withJessica Q, and became Trevelyan’s shadow instead.
Weeks later the official acceptance of the resignation came. It washanded to him at mess. He glanced at it indifferently and laid it toone side. Later, he left. He did not join the crowd that evening. Hewent back to his own quarters and closed the door and drew to thecovering at the window, and he sat down in the dark and fought it outalone.
Two hours after he went over to the hospital to make his nightly inquiryfor Stewart.
Stewart had had a bad day, they told him. It was a case for time.
He did not go in to see Stewart that night.
He wished that he could have waited and taken Stewart home, he thought,as he retraced his steps to his dark bungalow, but it might be monthsbefore Stewart could bear the journey, and Stewart would not hear of hiswaiting. Perhaps, it was because Stewart was not strong enough to bearthe sight of Trevelyan’s face, with its imprint of despair; it mighthave been he fancied something of the despair would lift when Trevelyanwas once again in Scotland. At any rate, he had ordered Trevelyan homeand Trevelyan had planned to leave—alone.
The next day he dismantled his quarters and made his preparations. Hepacked his uniforms and his helmets and his sword, and sent them home—toScotland, to Mactier’s care.
In the morning he put on civilian’s clothes and left the Station.
* * * * *
The stretch of distant land grew clearer with each throb of the shipengine’s heart.
The long voyage was over and Trevelyan was coming back to England.
And he had betrayed his allegiance to England because he had loved! * **
He leaned over the ship’s rail and looked idly at the whirling foam,that beat an angry protest at its birth against the ship’s great side,and then grew less and lost itself in the deep waters of the Channel.
Had he loved Cary? he questioned. Had he not mistaken the baser passionfor the diviner love that alone is built on honor?
She had told him to mould himself into the divine and he had broken theclay instead.
His eyes rested somberly on the long green line of land. All his honorand allegiance, with which he had broken faith, came back to him andfilled him with unspeakable emotion.
He would stoop and he would gather up the broken pieces and remould themfor the service of England.
_End of Book Two._
*BOOK THREE*
*THE POTTER’S TOUCH*